


Designated Hitter

by facethefall



Series: Wait For Spring [8]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facethefall/pseuds/facethefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine teaches Kurt how to hit in his backyard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Designated Hitter

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the following summer after both boys get drafted. My headcanon is that they get drafted to NL teams, which means Kurt will have to hit.

It’s warm in Kurt’s backyard, a small heat wave rolling through the middle of Ohio even though the leaves on the trees are starting to turn.  He wipes the back of his hand against his forehead, trying to get rid of the sweat that’s starting to bead on his skin.  It’s nothing like the weather on the Cape; no ocean breeze to keep them cool, no shaded dugout to hide under when the midday sun is the hottest. They’re dressed in matching Kettleers t-shirts, light weight and almost worn through from constant washes over the past two summers.  Kurt notices how Blaine’s shirt is a little tighter on him than it used to be, in the shoulders and across his back.

“I still don’t know why we’re doing this,” Kurt sighs, calling out to Blaine across the yard.  Blaine is dropped down into his familiar catcher’s crouch, digging through his equipment bag until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Aha!” he says, turning quickly to proudly display the bat to Kurt, who rolls his eyes fondly.  Blaine grabs a few more balls and tucks them into shirt, nodding his head towards the center of the yard.  “And we’re doing this because you’re going to be expected to know the basics, at least.  Bunting, moving the runner along, not striking out every time you step up to the plate,” Blaine teases, dropping the balls to the ground and handing the bat to Kurt.

Kurt velcros a pair of batting gloves around his wrists and stretches his fingers, the tight leather feeling foreign on his hands.  He takes the bat from Blaine and grips the handle, trying to get a feel for the wood in his hands.  It feels odd, to have the barrier of the gloves.  Kurt’s used to having a ball pressed into his hand, nothing between his skin and the red stitching.

“First things first,” Blaine starts, an amused smile on his face as Kurt drops the bat onto his shoulder.  “We have to work on your stance.  Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Kurt recalls the basics he learned in Little League years ago, back when everyone had to bat and coaches weren’t worried about him ruining his arm.  He slides his feet apart until they’re the width of his shoulders, bending a bit at his knees and pulling the bat up and behind his head.  He swings awkwardly a few times, moving his feet a few inches here and there until he feels a bit more comfortable.  He looks over at Blaine expectedly.  “Well?”

“Not bad,” Blaine says, making his way through the grass, looking Kurt up and down the whole way, until he’s standing directly behind him.  He places his hands feather light on Kurt’s sides and he can feel goose bumps break out across his skin despite the warm weather.  “You have to open up your hips,” Blaine whispers against Kurt’s ear, leaning in closer, his grip turning a little tighter as he angles Kurt’s hips.  Kurt’s eyes drift shut at the contact and learning how to hit is suddenly the last thing on his mind.

“Like this?” Kurt asks, moving his hips along with Blaine’s hands.  He feels it when everything locks into place, suddenly more comfortable with the bat pulled back and his elbows crooked.  Blaine presses in closer behind him, his chest pressed up to Kurt’s back and burning through their clothes.

“Better,” he mumbles, his fingers moving and sliding until they’re under Kurt’s shirt, pressing into his overheated skin.  “But the most important thing to remember is to relax.”  He rubs his hands in small circles over Kurt’s skin, on his hips and down onto his stomach.  “Stay loose.”  Kurt leans back into Blaine’s touch, dropping his head onto his shoulder and letting the bat fall to the ground.

“Stay loose,” Kurt repeats, mumbling the words.  He forgets about baseball entirely, focusing on the way Blaine feels pressed against him.  He grinds his hips back, moving in slow circles, pleased when he hears Blaine gasp and feels his fingers dig in deeper.

“So are you relaxed?” Blaine asks against his ear.  Kurt can feel Blaine holding back, wanting to thrust forward against him but staying still.  Kurt nods his head and starts to take off his batting gloves, needing to feel Blaine’s skin underneath his fingers.  “Then we should practice,” Blaine says, stepping away from Kurt and breaking all body contact.  He drops down and picks up the bat, handing it to Kurt with a smirk on his face.

“I thought we already were,” Kurt mumbles, annoyed, watching Blaine walk across the lawn until he reaches the pile of baseballs.  He does some absurd stretching, winding his arm around in huge circles.  “Wait.  You’re going to pitch to me?” Kurt says, laughing when he realizes what Blaine is doing.

“Of course I am,” he says, tossing a ball from hand to hand.  “But I don’t think you’re ready for my heat, Hummel.  And don’t think I’m going to go easy on you.”

Kurt just smiles and shakes his head, loosening his body and getting into his batting stance.  He does his best imitation of Blaine, digging his toes into the grass and wiggling the bat just a bit behind his ears.  Blaine laughs from across the yard.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” Kurt says, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Blaine leans forward until he’s bent in half, ball cradled in his hands, before whipping his body back and kicking his leg in the air.  His entire delivery is over exaggerated as he shouts out, “swing, batter batter, swiiiing!”  He lobs the ball to Kurt, who doesn’t even bother swinging, his whole body shaking with laughter as he watches Blaine’s messy throw land somewhere in the bushes.

“Nice job,” Kurt calls out once his laughter subsides, his voice teasing as Blaine picks up another ball from the pile.

“Okay, so maybe my fastball needs some work,” Blaine admits, hands out to the side in defeat.  “But just wait until you see my changeup.”

Kurt just rolls his eyes and gets back into his batting stance, the entire thing still feeling awkward.  He feels a little anxious without the familiar feeling of a baseball in his hand.  The bat is all wrong, too skinny and heavy and he can’t get a good feel for it, his fingers automatically trying to slide into a curveball grip on the wooden handle.

He barely has time to drop out of the way as the baseball comes hurling towards him, falling to the grass quickly to avoid Blaine’s pitch that’s running up and in and straight for his chin.  It’s clearly accidental; Blaine has no idea how to throw a changeup, or any pitch for that matter.  Kurt jumps to his feet immediately, his mouth set in artificial anger as he tosses his bat to the side and charges the mound.  Blaine is shouting out apologies, worry clear all over his face, when Kurt slams into him and tackles him to the ground.

“Chin music, Blaine? Really?” Kurt says as they wrestle, knees and elbows bent together as they roll around in the grass.  Blaine tugs at Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt pulls at Blaine’s waist, back and forth with their chests pressed together.  It doesn’t take long for Kurt to pin Blaine into the ground, straddling his strong thighs and his hands pressing at Blaine’s shoulders.  They’re both short of breath from the brief struggle and from the heat of the sun beating down on them.  Kurt shifts, ready to roll off of Blaine and help him up, when he feels Blaine pressed hard against the inside of his thigh.  He’s caught off guard, surprised that Blaine is so turned on, but quickly gives an experimentally thrust down.

“Kurt,” Blaine whines, a bit of embarrassment mixed into his voice, thrusting up to meet him.

“Hmm,” Kurt says, scooting up Blaine’s body until their hips are slotted together.  He leans down again, his hands pressing into Blaine’s shoulders and keeping him pinned to the ground.  He grinds down slowly, teasing, loving the way Blaine is so quick to respond beneath him.   “Maybe we should take this inside.”

Blaine quickly shakes his head, planting his feet into the grass and thrusting up.  Kurt feels himself start to harden, the friction of Blaine rutting up against him sending delicious spikes of pleasure through his entire body.

“No, please,” Blaine says, fingers digging into the blades of grass.  “Please don’t stop.  You feel so good.”

Kurt groans, bending down to press his lips against Blaine’s, hands sliding off of Blaine’s shoulders and pressing into the grass.  Their hips grind together as they kiss, frantic and quick and desperate.  Their mouths are wide open, gasping for air as their tongues press together.  The sun beats down on them and Kurt can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, can taste where it clings to Blaine’s upper lip.

Blaine’s hands leave the grass and reach out for Kurt, grabbing onto his waist and pulling his hips down.  Kurt can feel the hard line of his cock through all their layers of clothing and he knows they need to go inside, but he can’t make himself stop, not when Blaine is whimpering into his mouth and holding onto Kurt so tightly that he knows his pale skin will bruise.

Kurt tears his lips from Blaine’s mouth, dropping his head down into the crook of Blaine’s neck and squeezing his eyes shut.  It’s so basic, grinding desperately against each other, and Kurt’s suddenly taken back to summers past; tanned skin and the ocean air, rutting together on an old couch, hips working quickly and lips pressed into sweaty skin to keep quiet.  The feelings hit him fast and strong, causing him to work against Blaine faster, his head light and spinning.

“I’m close,” Blaine chokes out against Kurt’s ear.  His hands move from Kurt’s hips, around his waist until they’re sliding into his the back pocket of his shorts.  There isn’t an inch of space between them, their hips barely falling apart before coming back together.  Kurt’s cock is pressed against Blaine’s dick and his thigh, squeezed tighter and tighter with each twist of his hips.  He can feel Blaine’s thighs shaking beneath him, the jerky movement of his legs as he gets closer and closer.  He mouths at the skin of Blaine’s neck, panting and sucking as Blaine makes small desperate noises into his ear.

Kurt bites down hard onto Blaine’s neck as his orgasm hits, teeth sinking in and his thighs squeezing Blaine tight as his hips press down one final time.  It rolls over him in waves, pleasure shooting up his spine and spreading out through his limbs.  He’s just coming down when he feels Blaine tense beneath him, his head pressing back into the grass and hip hips shooting up.  He clings to Blaine, clutching wherever his hands touch, needing to be as close as possible.

They lie together in the grass, knowing they need to get up and change, but neither one willing to move.  Kurt knows Blaine will want to continue their hitting lesson, quiz him about which counts to run on and teach him the art of the drag bunt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Kurt asks softly.  Blaine is running a soothing hand up and down his back and Kurt melts into the touch.

“Wrigley Field,” Blaine says simply and Kurt understands, of course he does.  He tucks his head against Blaine’s chest, breathing in deeply and he swears he can smell the ocean in his nose.


End file.
